I headed alone to the dance floor and lost track of time. Fueled by many caffeinated beverages, I danced for hours to rolling, hypnotic bass lines. The percussive music was a physical sensation, too; the bass vibrated in my body. The D.J.s performed in a cube of metal scaffolding surrounded by the crowd. From inches away, I could see them cue up the next song.
It felt like existing in another dimension. It didn’t matter that I was alone.
I reflected on how Max Mehraliyev, 28, a brand manager for the Exist parties whom I’d met the previous night, described clubbing’s allure. “You kind of lose yourself in the music and then you find yourself,” he said. “Everyone needs to let go.”
Jedrzej Kowalczyk, Jasna 1’s artistic director and one of the club’s resident D.J.s, said that cultivating an open and accepting community was one of his biggest priorities. Jasna 1 has a strict no-discrimination policy and staffers regularly make safety checks throughout events. As at many other clubs, photography is prohibited.
“I’m super proud that finally we have this safe space and we have a real community around the club,” Mr. Kowalczyk, 34, said, noting that a recent influx of refugees from Ukraine and Belarus has infused a new energy into the city’s nightlife.
By 6 a.m., as Amoral, a Dutch D.J. who tours clubs worldwide, was shredding the decks, my trance was broken. Tiredness and hunger had won out.